


All You Knead is Love

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: 31 Days of Ficmas 2020 [22]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Baking, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Hanukkah, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28238082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Flynn helps Lucy to bake some traditional bread and sweets for Hanukkah after her first attempts end in disaster.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston
Series: 31 Days of Ficmas 2020 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035468
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: Timeless Secret Santa Fic Exchange 2020





	All You Knead is Love

**Author's Note:**

> For JayCee (justalittleiphi on twitter)

Garcia pursed his lips together, biting back a smirk as he surveyed the damage. His gaze lingered on the smoking oven, then the half burned yet somehow still under baked challah, then finally to Lucy herself. She could already hear his teasing retort but he had the sense to remain silent as he stepped up to brush the flour from her hair. 

“That looks… Interesting.”

“In my defence, it’s not like my mom and I ever baked together when I was a kid. She was never that kind of parent, not in any time line.” 

Lucy grew distant for a moment, that sadness once again weighing on her entire body as it did whenever she thought of Carol. After everything that had happened between them, the terrible things Carol had done in the name of Rittenhouse, the awful lengths Lucy had been willing to go to in order to escape her clutches, she still held a flicker of love for what might have been if her mother hadn’t have been part of the evil organisation hell bent on destroying them. 

It was complicated and Lucy simply didn’t have the time (funny, seeing how that was _all_ they seemed to have these days) or the energy to dwell longer on the possibilities of another life. Instead, she turned to Flynn and pretended not to see the concern which flickered across his face. 

This – whatever _this_ was; neither were willing to put a name to it lest it be torn away from them like everything else – was still new between them. The physical side had come surprisingly easily. After all, Flynn was incredibly attractive and Lucy had spent enough time wishing for a man like him to pass up the opportunity. They could pretend that it was the loneliness and the booze and it probably wouldn’t have been a lie but truthfully the spark had been there since those first moments beneath the burning wreck of the Hindenburg. 

It was the talking which was harder. Unburdening their hearts and sorrows to someone who understood, deeply, truly, in a way that no one outside the bunker ever could… It was terrifying. The connection that had bound them together from the start, that tingling bond that had never faded, grew stronger with every emotional confession she and Garcia shared. It made _t_ _his_ real and suddenly it was something they could lose. 

So, they danced around the words, ignored the anger for what the other had struggled through. They smiled and laughed and saved it for the darkest nights when things were already tough, when opening old wounds could be masked by newer ones. Garcia held her hand as she ranted for hours, screamed at the top of her lungs and cursed the universe for putting them there. In return, Lucy held him as he cried silent tears for his family and the world they’d never be able to reach again. 

But it was not one of those evenings tonight. These were days of celebration for the entire team, and by god were they going to enjoy the festivities if it killed them. Impossibly long strings of flashing fairy lights illuminated the kitchen with festive cheer. A small plastic tree with crappy decorations (some souvenirs retrieved from across the decades, but mainly scraps of metal which had fallen off ‘non essential’ systems, as Rufus deemed them, on the lifeboat) was balanced on the crappy television and a menorah sat in the middle of the table. It wasn’t much but it made the winter chill a little easier to bear. 

Lucy pushed those dark thoughts away, concentrated all her anger on the burnt, inedible lump of bread which had lost all the definition of her plaits in the oven and tossed it into the bin. She slumped against the counter and buried her head into Garcia’s chest, savoured the warmth of his strong arms holding her steady. 

“I’m useless.” 

Garcia cupped her face, thumb swiping gently through the flour that clung to her cheeks. “You are many things, Lucy, but useless will never be one of them.” 

When he stepped back, Lucy missed the warmth of his body against hers. Garcia always ran hot and, what with the temperature dropping down to minus figures over the past week, she rarely left his side lest she lose her own personal heater. He teased her relentlessly, not that he truly minded at all, but she got back at him with her frozen feet in bed. 

Bed sounded good, then. Lucy would give up on her failed baking attempts, crawl back to bed with Garcia and they could watch those crappy cartoons she and Amy had watched as a kid. But, of course, that was exactly _why_ she had to stay here and get it right. Amy had always been the baker, the one to fill the table with sweet jam doughnuts and all manner of other treats. Carol had always rolled her eyes as her girls tried to sneak trays of deep fried snacks into their bedrooms, to gorge themselves on the delicious desserts before dinner. They were some of the best holiday memories that Lucy had. Now that Amy wasn’t here, it was up to Lucy to carry on their traditions. 

Sensing her struggle, always attuned to the turmoil that other members of the team missed (admittedly they too were suffering on their own), Garcia smiled down at Lucy and wordlessly rolled up the sleeves of his jumper. He glanced around the kitchen for a rag to wipe up the mess she had already made and said, “We can try again together. We’ve faced far too much to be beaten by fancy bread and pastry.”

Lucy stretched up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his mouth; it would have been soft and sweet if not for the flour on her lips. They drew apart, brushing their mouths on the back of their hands and then tried again, this time far more successfully. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“It’s important to you, Lucy. Therefore it’s important to me too. Come on, there must be more ingredients around here somewhere.” 

As it turned out, Garcia was a fabulous cook. Where Lucy worked by eye, tossed ingredients into a bowl and relied on a hope and a prayer for something that wouldn’t poison the rest of the team, Garcia was methodical and precise. She felt a little bit like a child in the kitchen, always in his way and far better suited to watching from the side-lines than being actively involved, but he drew her back into the action, showed her how to properly kneed bread dough (apparently smacking it into the surface and beating it to a pulp, as she had been doing, was not the most effective way; it was however a good way to release anger) and made it look altogether too easy.

Perched on the table edge, Lucy watched with a soft smile on her face as Garcia rolled out all the tiny doughnuts for frying. She realised then, that for the first time in months, maybe even years, that she could imagine a life after Rittenhouse. They had destroyed so much, taken the things that mattered the most, that Lucy was never able to picture returning to ‘normality’ as it had once been. But in that moment, that changed. 

Lucy could see her and Garcia in a sweet house together, baking and talking about their days, marking the year through festivals and celebrations big and small. She saw them hosting dinners for the others, her contribution limited to dressing the table and pouring the wine. They would laugh and joke and make love in every corner of their home and be by each others side until the peaceful end. It would be a beautiful life. 

“What are you thinking about?” Garcia pulled the first challah from the oven, the scent enough to make Lucy’s mouth water. 

She jumped off the table, drawn to it like a moth to a flame, but he knocked her hand away before she could tear off a piece to try. Jutting out her chin, Lucy pouted. “Amy always let me try some straight away.”

“And how many times did you burn yourself?”

“Every time,” Lucy grumbled. 

Garcia grinned smugly and she thought, not for the first time, just how much her sister would have loved him too. “Every time. Why don’t you tell me what you were thinking off while it cools?”

“The future.”

“I didn’t know we had one.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. “Your optimism is shining through as always. Seriously, though. Whatever time we have, Garcia, I want to spend it with you.” 

“And I with you, Lucy. Even if you can’t bake to save your life.” 

Swatting him away, Lucy bit back a smile. He could be such a bastard sometimes but god did she love him. “I can’t see us beating Rittenhouse with pastries and bread, can you?”

He shrugged. “We could poison them. Hide explosives inside one of your cakes. They’re already so heavy that they wouldn’t even notice.” 

Ever the smart man, Garcia was already backing away, ready for her to attack. Despite his advantage – those long legs ran fast – Lucy caught him soon enough but he didn’t seem to mind at all. 


End file.
